


You Only Live Twice (hope the second bullet doesn't kill you)

by trailsofpaper (Sanwall)



Series: Calling An Audible [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, James Bond AU, M/M, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanwall/pseuds/trailsofpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Louis Austin of the MI6 is reported missing, presumed dead, after a failed hit on one Harry Styles. The rumours of his death are highly exaggerated however, and when Louis' former colleague Liam Payne needs Louis to help him with an unsanctioned mission, well. Let's say 'no' isn't an option.</p><p>Too bad this mission involves none other than Harry Styles.</p><p>(or the James Bond AU no one asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by every cheesy spy flick we've seen, and a week of frantic writing in July. I may have written the story but I wouldn't have if it wasn't for [pursuingsunshine](http://pursuingsunshine.tumblr.com/) who came up with almost all of the plot and did the incredible work of telling me off for every misplaced comma and repeated word. Any remaining mistakes are undoubtedly my own.
> 
> If this was a movie, I have no doubt Liam would actually be the protagonist, but we get to follow the memorable side character that is Louis instead.
> 
> There are five chapters plus a prologue and an epilogue; I will be updating once a week on Sundays from now on. Hope you like it!

“A rogue does not laugh in the same way that an honest man does; a hypocrite does not shed the tears of a man of good faith. All falsehood is a mask; and however well made the mask may be, with a little attention we may always succeed in distinguishing it from the true face.”

― Alexandre Dumas, _The Three Musketeers_

“It was the short men that caused all the trouble in the world.”

― Ian Fleming, _Goldfinger_

 

**Prologue**

**Sicily, Italy**

”Are you sure this is our guy, Niall?”

Louis peered through the scope, crosshairs neatly framing the brown curls of a man resting by the poolside. The wind was picking up and he was trying to compensate for it by shifting his aim slightly.

“He’s got yellow swim shorts on, for fuck’s sake,” Louis continued, changing his grip on the rifle as he made himself more comfortable in the underbrush, already coated with that yellow dust which was so prevalent across Italy.

“That’s Horan to you while we’re working, Austin,” came Niall’s voice through his earpiece, his Irish accent distorted by static. Louis rolled his eyes with a huff, which Niall must have picked up on judging by the loud cackle he let out in response. The burst of noise made Louis wince.

“We’ve been through this,” Niall said patiently. “Brown curly hair, two extra nipples, the ridiculous fern tattoos.”

“Check, check and check,” Louis muttered, thumbing the rifle absent–mindedly. “You didn’t mention he had dimples, though.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had to take out a good–looking target before, Austin.”

“C’mon, I’m not _that_ shallow,” Louis drawled, exhaling deeply to prepare himself for the shot.

That, of course, was the moment another man appeared by the side of the target, obscuring Louis’ clean shot. He cursed and changed position, as if that would better his chances of a clean kill.

“What?” Niall demanded. A crashing noise transmitted through the earpiece, and Louis would bet his life the unassuming genius had knocked over his cup of coffee.

“The shot is compromised,” Louis admitted through gritted teeth. It didn’t seem to improve either, the target getting up to follow the other man inside the house.

“Shit, Niall, I missed it.”

A crackle came through the earpiece – Niall sighing, Louis assumed.

“You need to get the job done, Louis. By tonight. The target cannot be allowed to share the information he has.”

“I know,” Louis said as he began packing up his rifle. “I’ve got this covered, Nialler. According to the intel there’s a party tonight, and you all know I’m great at crashing parties.”

Louis _was_ great at crashing parties. Dressed in a nice suit, tie askew just so, top button undone, and his styled hair artfully disheveled, all he had to do was act just drunk enough and slip the guard a wad of cash and he was inside.

The entire ground floor of the mansion was brimming with men in suits and tuxedos, and women in sparkling dresses, all holding tall glass flutes of alcohol, laughing and talking. One room had been turned into a dance floor with strobe lights and people grinding on each other to the beat of a techno song.

Louis played up his alleged inebriated state, stumbling from room to room while surreptitiously checking for Target Tall and Tattooed. Louis’ eyes fell on him almost by mistake; he was holding a door open for an elderly woman who thanked him generously while clinging to his arm. Louis’ target didn’t seem fazed, chivalrously escorting the woman to the bar and chatting amiably.

Louis followed them, noting the patience exhibited by his target. The mark ordered a drink for himself and the woman while Louis sat down a few stools away, listening as his target charmed the lady effortlessly and trying to figure out what appeal the woman held for Mr. Styles, but to no avail.

When the woman finally excused herself, Louis bit his lip and wondered about his best approach. He was about to launch his smoothest pick–up line when Dimples turned to him and said,

“Hope you don’t think I’m too forward, but you seem lonely. Can I buy you a drink?”

Louis flashed his brightest smile, leaning his chin on his hand and blinking slowly, letting his eyelashes flutter.

“I’d love for you to buy me a drink, darling.”

“A gin and tonic, please,” the target called out, and Louis straightened up as he sat down beside him.

“Harry Styles,” he presented himself, leaning onto the countertop with his elbow and resting his chin on his hand.

“Louis,” Louis replied with a hint of amusement to his tone. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”

Harry shrugged, dazzling Louis with a dimpled smile.

“I don’t know. You seemed like the type to enjoy a g and t.”

His voice was mesmerizing, slow and deep. Louis knew he could listen to it all night if time would allow it.

“I hope you didn’t send your friend away on my account,” Louis said, shifting his weight exaggeratedly. Harry kept smiling.

“Mrs Holding? No, no, just an old acquaintance. She was telling me the most riveting story.”

“I bet,” Louis said, letting his voice take on an airy quality. Harry’s green eyes didn’t waver from Louis for one second. His brown curls were swept back and to the side in a messy quiff, enhancing the boyish quality of his rounded face, throwing into contrast the devious smirk that played on his full, red lips.

It didn’t take the least bit of effort to flirt with Harry Styles. It was always easier if the flirting was reciprocated, but the crackle of tension between the two was practically palpable.

“She was telling me about an encounter she’d had back in the day,” Harry lied smoothly. Louis leaned forward on his hand, smiling encouragingly. He’d heard every word Harry and Mrs Holding had exchanged, and knew Harry was making it all up.

“He was a real charmer, rich and famous and everything. He bought her the most romantic dinner and took her out to the opera.”

The gin and tonic was placed in front of Louis, but he was playing the part of listening intently to Harry’s story, so he didn’t even touch it. The story was slow and meandering, and Louis hummed and nodded at the appropriate instances, encouraging Harry to continue.

“– and then he said, ‘this is what makes women scream.’ And all she said was: ‘Scream? Where the hell’s your dick at?’”

Louis couldn’t help the high guffaw from escaping from his mouth. He collapsed theatrically, and when he looked up, Harry was smiling radiantly, his green eyes glimmering.

“Oh my god,” Louis said, wiping at his eye with one hand while the other fell down onto Harry’s on the countertop like a thoughtless gesture. He noted Harry’s brief glance down and smiled inwardly.

“I need some air,” Louis announced, inhaling loudly and making a move to stand up. When Harry did the same, he stumbled a little to make Harry catch him, which he did.

 _What a gentleman,_ Louis thought, while Harry escorted him to a secluded balcony. _Even leading me to the perfect spot to finish my mission._

Louis leaned against the rail, looking out onto the dark Mediterranean sea below him. A breeze brought with it the smell of salt and cold water, ruffling Louis’ hair leisurely. The moon painted a fractured line of white onto the dark waves.

“Beautiful night,” he said dreamily, not looking at Harry as he settled beside him.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Harry said after a short pause. Louis turned to him, biting his lip coyly, glance flicking from Harry’s eyes to his mouth.

 _Kiss him and slit his carotid artery,_ Louis calculated. _Push him over the railing before you get any blood on you._

His heart beat loudly, their mouths just a breath apart, and Louis’ fingers twitched over the blade hidden in his trousers. Something made him hesitate, and Harry picked up on it, leaning back just a hint.

“What–” began Harry as the balcony door was thrown open and three men rushed out with their weapons drawn.

“Mr. Styles, stand back!” one of them shouted as all three trained their guns on Louis.

Louis immediately pushed Harry against the one closest to him, causing the two men to collide painfully. He then got a hold of the second man’s gun by twisting it out of his hand with a crushing grip to his wrist and a kick to his groin.

Pivoting on one foot, he shot the third one in the chest and twirled around to finish the other two, only to find that the first man had regained his balance and was standing with his gun pointed at Louis.

A shot rang out.

Louis felt pain bloom from his shoulder as he stumbled backwards with the force of the hit, his back hitting the railing, tumbling over almost effortlessly.

He blinked and he hit the waves, raging cold enveloping him.

 _This is it, then_ , he thought as darkness threatened to overtake him.

Many, many miles away, Niall Horan let an earpiece filled with only static drop to the table as he hid his face in his hands.

On the balcony, Harry Styles searched the waves for a long time before rejoining the party.

 

 

  **Chapter 1**

  **Singapore, Five Years Later**

“Do you have an appointment, sir?” asked the well–dressed, smiling receptionist. The visitor peered at her over the rim of expensive sunglasses.

“Under the name Tomlinson,” was the neutral reply. The receptionist tapped something into her computer at blinding speed before her smile turned a smidgen more genuine.

“Ah, of course, mister Tomlinson! Step right in.”

Louis knew he was being cliché as he stepped through the well–furnished reception into the clean environment of a tattoo studio. Getting a tattoo after a job well done was almost a staple in his business at this point.

 _But what the hell_ , he thought as he sat down, rolling up the sleeve of his neat, buttoned down shirt. _Reported missing in action, presumed dead, starting a new life after a near–death experience – I’ve bloody earned being a cliché_.

The needle broke skin, and Louis closed his eyes against the familiar, almost soothing, pain. He fingered absent–mindedly at the lines of his first tattoo peeking out from under his collar: a scrawling script – _It Is What It Is_ –stretching across his collarbones. The last ‘s’ tickled at the scarring from the bullet that had sent him over that balcony years ago.

Louis left the studio, fresh ink safely wrapped in plastic, after paying a handsome amount to ensure the silence of the employees – the perks of going to a professional, high–end place. Good thing Louis’ latest hit paid well enough to tip generously.

His mind was blissfully blank as he made his way through Singapore’s bustling streets, relishing in his anonymity. The best thing about being an independent businessman and not MI6 was that there never was anyone to report back to after an executed mission, no fall–out to check up on.

 _Freedom_ , thought Louis as he fidgeted with the shirtsleeve folded down over the brand new bird inked into his forearm. _I didn’t even know how much I was missing. But that’s government work for you._

Back at his hotel, he collected his one suitcase and made to check out when he was informed that there was a message for him.

“What’s that, then?” Louis asked, a frown forming on his face as he tapped his well–manicured fingers impatiently on the reception desk.

Instead of reading it aloud, the receptionist handed him a sealed envelope. Still frowning, Louis opened the plain envelope, unfolding an equally plain piece of paper.

On it was printed a simple message:

“Request audience with The Rogue. Will buy you lunch.”

Below was an address and a time. Louis did not change his expression in the least, allowing his small frown to persist as he checked the clock – he had half an hour before the allotted meeting time. A quick search on his phone later, the address turned out to be a small, cozy café just outside the city centre.

Louis needed to have a talk with his former employer. Giving out his whereabouts so that someone else could find out where he was staying was just unacceptable.

As Louis hailed a taxi, he entertained the thought of not showing up. He didn’t need another job right now. He should rest up, let his tattoo heal and maybe go on holiday for a month.

Still, he told the driver the address on the message, and promised an extra tip if he could make it in twenty minutes. Louis scratched the front of his ankle with the heel of his polished shoe, at the precise place he had _The_ inked into skin, matching _Rogue_ on his other ankle. He hadn’t gotten the nickname for nothing, and Louis was man enough to admit he lived for the thrill of a mission.

Why else would the MI6 have picked him up at the ripe age of eighteen?

The sun beat down mercilessly as Louis hurried in below the shade of parasols set out in front of the café. He pretended to peruse the list of cold beverages chalked up on a framed blackboard beside the beaded curtain covering the café entrance while he checked the clientele sat by the tables. Mostly young tourist couples, most of them from Europe, making moon eyes at each other over shared plates or iced lattes.

One person stood out easily, though. He had his back to the wall, eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he peered down at his phone while glancing around at regular intervals. He was dressed not in casual summer wear, but in a white shirt and black blazer, and his body language practically screamed ‘I’m here on illegal business’. No back–up seemed present, which made Louis’ confident enough to saunter over.

He hid a smirk, pulled out a chair with his foot and sat down with a flourish. Whatever biting remark he was about to utter died on his lips, however, as they locked eyes over the rim of their respective pairs of sunglasses.

“As I live and breathe,” Louis said, face slack in astonishment. “Liam Payne.”

Liam Payne stared at him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide in shock.

You’d think an MI6 agent would have a better poker face, but deception had never been Liam’s strong suit. Rather, outsmarting his opponents while smiling brightly and then bringing them down with a swift kick had been his forte. Still was, if his well–developed physique was anything to go by.

The thought of running away entered Louis’ mind, but that would make Liam’s instincts kick in. Louis would make it perhaps a yard before Liam took him down. Louis was no match for him in hand–to–hand combat.

Liam’s face had lost some of that roundness Louis remembered, and that disarming mop of curls was only a memory, the buzz cut serving to underscore the strong jaw. The brown shade of his eyes was the same though, and Louis felt a twinge in his gut as Liam finally found his words.

“Louis? Louis Austin, we thought you were dead!”

Louis cleared his throat, scratching his neck self–consciously. At least the MI6 wasn’t on to him – Liam could never lie so convincingly.

“I go by Tomlinson, nowadays,” he said airily, not meeting Liam’s eyes.

There was silence, and Louis chanced a look at Liam again. The shock was replaced by an uncharacteristic hardness – his mouth was set in a grim line, eyes reduced to slits.

“How could you do this to Niall,” said Liam, quietly. It was like someone had punched Louis’ in the sternum.

“How could I—” Louis broke off, schooling his voice into something less high–pitched. “ _You_ left me for dead! What was I supposed to do, just come waltzing back, expecting a biscuit and a pat on the head for botching the most important mission of my life?”

Louis hated how his natural Yorkshire accent became apparent just by talking to someone from his past. All the more reason to end this interaction quickly.

He leaned back, pushing his sunglasses back up.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Payno. Whatever reason an upstanding member of the old agency could have for seeking out The Rogue, I’m giving you an out: your boss doesn’t have to find out, you give up on whatever fanciful idea it is that you have, and I go my merry way. Alright?”

“No,” said Liam, his face still hard. “No deal, _Tomlinson_. You are going to help me or I will tell Simon Cowell that his prodigy is still up and kicking, and you will be brought back in _chains_ if that’s what it takes.”

Louis swallowed, the severity of Liam’s threat dawning on him. Simon Cowell, the respected head of MI6, didn’t take kindly to being deceived.

“Aren’t you at least going to buy me lunch?” he tried, weakly.

 

 

“You’ve changed,” was the first thing Liam said after they had relocated to Liam’s sad little excuse for a hotel room.

“Yeah, it’s not like I’ve been on the run from an intelligence agency for nearly five years or anything,” Louis said sarcastically, gingerly sitting down on the creaky bed, stretching out his legs.

Liam slumped back against the door, sighing and rubbing at his eyes.

“No, that’s not– never mind. Nice tattoo.”

Louis grabbed his left wrist self consciously, covering the band of card suit symbols that peeked out from under his sleeve.

“Shut up,” he muttered rebelliously, and bounced a bit on the thin mattress. “So am I right in assuming you’re doing something HQ isn’t approving of?”

Liam sighed again, and went over to the little window and checked that the blinds were drawn. Louis rolled his eyes a little.

“We came close to taking Ben Winston down,” he said, still staring at the blinds, like he could see through them. Louis twitched, shoving his hands under his thighs.

“The up–and–coming independent arms dealer? _That_ Ben Winston?” he asked. He heard Liam scoff.

“The very same. He’s not up–and–coming anymore, but an established player in the game.”

Liam turned to him then, pinning him with a cold stare.

“As a matter of fact, he managed to get to a very favorable position thanks to the intel provided to him by one Harry Styles.”

Louis threw up his hands, ignoring the phantom pain flaring to life in his shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t send someone else to finish the job!”

In two steps, Liam came up by the bed and had lifted Louis up by the throat.

“You were our best, Louis!” he growled, inches from Louis’ face. “When you went down, what chance did we stand?”

“Fuck if I know,” Louis choked out, scrabbling weakly at Liam’s iron grip.

After a tense moment, Liam let go of Louis, who fell limply back onto the bed.

“It was too late,” Liam continued, chest heaving even though his voice was more measured. “The damage was done, and both Styles and Winston went into hiding. When Winston finally emerged, he was untouchable.”

Louis swallowed, rubbing at his tender neck.

“It took us years, but we managed to get an operative undercover to get close to him. We almost got him, but he–”

Liam’s voice broke off, and he rubbed his brow with a thumb. Louis, for once in his life, stayed quiet and waited for him to continue.

“He was made. For some reason, Winston didn’t dispose of him, but started keeping him even closer– he might use him as an asset or hostage, we don’t know yet.”

Liam turned away, his shoulders hunched.

“I was sent in to kill him, so that Winston wouldn’t have any more leverage than he already has.”

“But you didn’t,” Louis finished, leaning forward a bit on the bed.

“I didn’t,” Liam agreed. “I want to extract him instead, only Cowell won’t give me the means.”

“So you came to me,” Louis said, getting to his feet. “Who did they send?”

“Zayn Malik,” replied Liam, a broken note to his voice.

 _Oh_ , thought Louis, biting his lip. _No wonder Liam couldn’t do it_.

“Right then,” said Louis lightly, putting his hands to his hips and kicking out a foot. “Promise me you won’t sell me out to Simon?”

Liam turned to him, an almost pitiful expression of hope on his face.

“You’ll help me, then?” he asked, a note of surprise in his voice.

Louis shook his head.

“God help me but I will, Payne,” he sighed. “Can’t do it from this little shithole though. C’mon, let’s put you on a plane to Spain. I was headed there to take a breather, might as well join me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Granada, Spain**

The villa in the south of Spain was one of Louis’ favourite safe houses. He’d have to get rid of it after this mess had been dealt with, so he intended to fully enjoy his last stay there.

He put up his bare feet on the coffee table in the open living room, nursing a cold beer from the well–stocked fridge. He closed his eyes and basked in the afternoon sun while Liam diligently tapped away at his laptop on the opposite couch.

“So, last I knew, Winston is heading to Sierra Leone to meet with an insurgent leader to broker a deal. There is no way he’s risking Zayn – he’ll be left somewhere safe,” Liam said, frowning at the screen.

“So we swoop in and save Zayn from this safe place. Sounds easy,” Louis said, taking a swig of his beer.

“Mmm,” agreed Liam. “Only, we don’t know where Zayn’s going to be left.”

“How do we find this out?” Louis dutifully asked, wriggling his toes a little.

“There’s someone who has the pertinent insider information,” Liam said slowly, putting the laptop aside. Louis perked up a little, the change in Liam’s demeanor catching his interest.

“He’s in Winston’s employment but has no special loyalty towards him,” Liam continued as he crossed his legs to cup his knee. “I think with the right persuasion he might be willing to share information.”

“You mean I get to seduce him,” Louis said, smiling a little as he lifted the bottle to his lips again. He never said he hated all aspects of being an agent.

“It’s Harry Styles,” said Liam.

Louis choked on a mouthful of beer, spraying foam all over the coffee table, his feet coming down on the floor with a bang.

“You can’t be bloody serious!” Louis said hoarsely. He coughed twice before he started gesticulating wildly to underscore his words. “I feel the need to _point out_ Harry Styles nearly had me killed last time I went toe to toe with him, since you seem to have fucking forgotten!”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Liam said, infuriatingly calm. “I just didn’t know you were the Rogue. I need this information. I can’t get it myself, so I’m sending you.”

“Harry Styles can be bought,” Louis said, planting his feet firmly on the ground, leaning forward. “Winston is a fool if he trusts him with information.”

Liam laughed humourlessly.

“He can’t be bought with our means, Louis. Not even our government has the means to buy out bloody Harry Styles. Winston knows this. I need you to find him and get the information by any means necessary.”

Louis and Liam stared at each other for a beat, before Louis relented.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I die for real this time, you’re paying for my funeral.”

**Paris, France**

The scene was almost eerily familiar. It was opening night at the casino that Ben Winston funded with his illegally obtained money, so all the big names in the business were bound to appear. It seemed like a nice place to launder money, if Louis was any judge.

Already the place was crawling with people dressed up in tuxes and evening dresses, acting just like they weren’t about to let loose and lose a lot of money in the process.

The scar on Louis’ shoulder started itching as soon as he entered. He righted his suit jacket and tie absent–mindedly, doing his best to relax and blend in.

He made small talk, accepting a glass of champagne, acting like everyone he met should know who he was. It worked like a charm; not one single person asked after his identity. Louis waltzed from table to table like he’d been born to do so.

Louis’ eyes fell on a face he recognized from Liam’s briefings: Ben Winston himself, talking to a group of adoring supporters. By his side, half a step behind, was Zayn Malik. Louis ducked behind the entrée table, unwilling to risk Zayn recognizing him.

He raised his glass to his mouth to mumble into the mic hidden in his sleeve.

“I have eyes on Winston and Malik. They seem happy together.”

They really didn’t. Winston had Zayn’s arm in a grip that could be seen as intimate, but was more forced than appreciated, judging by the disgusted curl to Zayn’s mouth.

“Zayn’s there?” came Liam’s voice through his earpiece. “How does he look?”

 _Haggard_ , thought Louis, regarding Zayn carefully. _Still beautiful._

His face was pale under his complexion, cheekbones prominent and his eyes seemingly dark and huge. For some reason he’d shaved off his hair, only dark stubble remaining, but it did not detract from how effortlessly handsome he was _._

“He’s alive,” said Louis, under the guise of taking another sip.

“Okay,” said Liam in his ear. “Well, we can’t change the plan. Find Styles.

“Of course we bloody won’t change the plan, are you mad?” Louis hissed, with his back turned to the room.

“I just said we can’t change it!” was Liam’s irritable reply. Louis could hear that something was off about him, but undercover was no place to start a therapy session.

He shook his head and made his way over to the bar, ordering a drink just to occupy himself. Louis leaned back onto the bar with the glass in hand, ready to settle down until he caught sight of his target.

Which he did immediately.

Louis wasn’t proud of how he jolted a little at the sight of Harry Styles. Five years had done him a world of justice – all the boyishness in his face had matured into a masculine jawline and a prominent nose. The lips were as full and red as Louis remembered; the eyes locked on him the same startlingly green shade.

“You,” said Harry, voice low and clear over the susurrus of noise surrounding them. His hair had grown longer, the brown locks combed into a neat bun at the top of his head. Louis could see his adam’s apple bob as Harry moved a step closer.

“You were declared presumed dead,” said Harry, eyes roaming all over Louis, who blinked.

 _Hold the fuck up,_ thought Louis, backtracking quickly. So Styles remembered him from that brief encounter years ago – not only remembered, he had clearly done some research, too, if he knew about Louis’ status as MIA.

Louis hadn’t been able to smuggle any weapons through security – this needed to be handled smoothly, without attracting attention.

“Well,” said Louis slowly, swirling the ice cube in his drink. “It would seem the rumours of my death were highly exaggerated.”

“Funny,” said Harry without a hint of humour in his voice. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t call security.”

Louis laughed, leaning back on the counter a little more.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. I don’t make the same mistake twice, love,” he said, not looking away from Harry for one second. “Besides, if you know I’ve been missing in action, you know I’m not with the MI6 anymore. I’m just trying to make a living.”

Louis nodded at Harry.

“Much like you.”

Harry chuckled.

“What, are you in the escort service, as well?” he said, coming a step closer to lean on the counter, much like Louis.

Louis scoffed, crossing his legs where he stood.

“You call it escort service, I call it sleeping with people for information.”

Harry’s eyelashes fluttered as he inclined his head just a fraction.

“Call it whatever you want. So, you’re just here on pleasure, not business?”

Harry leaned his head to the side, crossing his own legs coquettishly as he waited for Louis’ reply. The subtle act of mirroring did not escape Louis’ notice.

“You wish,” said Louis. “I only flirted with you to get close enough to kill you, you know.”

“Oh, please,” said Harry, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “I can tell when someone wants to get into my trousers, Louis.”

He pronounced Louis’ name with an exaggerated French _oui_. Louis would never admit to the little zip of arousal it sent down his spine.

“In fact,” said Harry, looking down for a moment before looking back at Louis through his eyelashes. “You couldn’t even kill me, when it came to it.”

“I was interrupted by your goons,” said Louis with a theatrically indignant tone of voice. “I’ll have you know I was just about to slit your throat when I was shot off that balcony.”

Louis smiled then, making sure to show his pointed canines.

“Wanted to thank you for that, by the way. Getting rid of my bosses in one fell swoop, as it were, was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Harry laughed at that, a low, almost sensuous chuckle. Louis could see him relax incrementally. _Good_.

“You have a twisted sense of humour, Louis,” said Harry, accepting his drink in a martini glass. He immediately fished out the cherry with his slender fingers. They were adorned with rings, a strangely feminine contrast to the masculine broadness of his hand, Louis noted.

Louis _did not_ note how long and red Harry’s tongue was.

“In fact,” drawled Louis, leaning into Harry just a little, still smiling. “I’m so thankful I could almost kiss you.”

“Why don’t you, then?” said Harry, lowering his voice conspiratorially. He smelled intoxicatingly good of cologne and expensive clothes and something heady that Louis was sure was unique to only Harry.

It was with a conscious effort that Louis leaned back and let out a laugh.

“Please! I was only about to kiss you for the job. I’m a free man now.”

Harry shrugged, but Louis could see his eyes darken. Harry’s mouth pulled into a devious smirk as he raised his glass and took a sip.

“So I missed my chance, you mean. Pity. I know how to show people a good time.”

“My god, stop flirting and get to it already” groaned Liam in Louis’ ear. Louis’ expression didn’t falter for one second, but he pulled the earpiece out while pretending to scratch his neck.

“I bet you tell that to all the guys,” he said instead, putting the earpiece in his pocket.

Harry leaned even closer, looking down at his glass in a false display of demure innocence.

“No, only to the really handsome agents,” he said.

“Not an agent anymore,” said Louis, his eyes traveling to Harry’s lips at their own accord.

Harry caught the movement, the shadow of a dimple appearing in his cheek. Louis felt a sudden, violent urge to suck vodka from the indentation.

“Well,” breathed Harry, their eyes locked in a silent standoff. “You’re still very handsome.”

 _Well, fuck,_ thought Louis.

As soon as the hotel door slammed shut behind them, they were on each other, pulling at clothes. Harry was half a head taller than Louis, something Louis made up for with sheer enthusiasm, licking into Harry’s mouth even as Harry bent him backwards.

Louis reached up and tugged Harry’s bun open with a violent yank, brown curls spilling out like a curtain around them. They smelled like flowers, and Louis inhaled greedily.

Harry hissed against Louis’ mouth and pinned him against the door with a dull thud. They were kissing, teeth clashing as they bit at each other’s lips, their harsh breaths echoing through the room.

Harry grinned against Louis’ lips and pushed a thigh in between Louis’ legs, pressing against his already straining cock. Louis’ head banged against the door painfully as he pushed closer, chasing the friction.

He retaliated by starting to rid Harry of his tuxedo, piece by piece. Harry was gorgeous like this, Louis realized, green eyes dark and cheeks flushed with red, chest heaving with his white shirt half undone, hair curling around his face.

Louis felt an overpowering need to reduce him to reckless moans and breathless whimpers. He put his mouth on Harry’s collarbone, licking and biting as he undid Harry’s fly. Harry moaned as Louis sucked at his pulse point, a low sound that shot straight to Louis’ groin.

Harry started to undress Louis as well, and Louis let his suit jacket fall away with mic and earpiece and all before pushing his hands away. Louis was determined to show him a good time, so he made quick work of Harry’s remaining clothes until he was naked before him.

Louis had to take a moment, to drink in the sight of Harry’s toned body. Several small tattoos marred the pale skin and curved over sculpted muscles. His generous cock was already filling up where it nestled in dark hair – Louis licked his lips, glad he wasn’t the only one affected.

“Like what you see?” said Harry with a teasing edge to his voice, putting his hands on his curvy hips. Louis smirked and kicked off his shoes, swiftly hooking his bare foot around Harry’s ankle so he could push him down onto the kingsize bed. Harry let out a surprised huff, which only made Louis smile wider.

He straddled Harry’s hips, putting his hands on either side of Harry’s head, studying his face. Harry’s eyes were twinkling, mouth parted over white teeth, the dimples deepening as he reached down to unzip Louis’ trousers.

Louis opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say died in his throat when Harry grabbed his hips. He pushed down Louis’ trousers and pants as he dragged himself downward between Louis’ legs to take him into his mouth, seemingly in one move.

Louis arched his body above Harry, curling in on himself and clenching his fists in the sheets, unable to do anything but give in to the intoxicating feeling of Harry sucking at the head of his cock. Harry’s mouth was warm and wet and wonderful, and his dry, calloused hand encircled what his mouth couldn’t reach. Louis understood perfectly how someone would tell Harry anything, _anything_ if he would just _keep doing that_.

“Jesus Christ,” was all Louis managed to get out, as Harry tongued at his slit. He heard Harry hum in agreement, and the resounding vibration was just too much.

Somehow, Louis found the strength to sit up and push back. He slid out of Harry’s mouth with a wet pop, and Louis had to close his eyes against the image of Harry with his mouth bitten red and slick with spit, blinking dazedly up at him.

Louis sat down on Harry’s thighs, breathing heavily with his cock obscenely peeking out under his shirt.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” said Harry, his voice absolutely wrecked. The sound made Louis shiver.

“I’ll take them off if you turn around,” he said, and pulled his tie over his head. Harry turned over leisurely, leaning his chin in his hand as he peered over his shoulder at Louis, who was taking off his trousers and shirt.

Louis settled back onto the bed.

“I’m going to eat you out now,” he said, matter–of–factly, relishing in the shudder his words sent through Harry’s body. He put his hands on Harry’s arsecheeks, spreading them gently before leaning down and setting to work.

The low keening noise Harry let out almost immediately was all the reward Louis needed. He could feel Harry’s thighs twitch with the effort it took to stay still, and Louis smiled where he was tongue deep in his arse.

This intermission was enough to calm Louis down enough so he wouldn’t come after three minutes like some sad teenage boy, although his cock twitched with interest every time Harry let out a gasp. Somehow, Louis thought he could do this forever if he had the chance.

When he had to lift his head to breathe, the sheets rustled where Harry twisted to look at him.

“You better fuck me, Louis,” he said breathlessly, and Louis would have grinned if the open want on Harry’s face didn’t punch the breath out of him, too.

“As you wish,” said Louis, trying for levity, but his voice was too high, too needy to make it sound anything other than completely honest. He wasn’t sure if it was.

Harry reached for the nightstand, throwing a condom at him before ripping open a packet of lube and coating his fingers.

Louis fumbled with the condom – in his defense, the sight of Harry slicking himself up would give anyone pause. Harry reached over and coated the condom with the remainder of the lube when Louis finally managed to roll it on, and Louis had to bite his lip to control himself.

“How do you want me?” Harry asked, spreading his legs where he lay on his back. He stroked his cock lazily, and Louis shook his head, pulling himself up so that they were chest to chest.

“Just like this,” he whispered, their gazes locking as he pushed inside. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and Louis let his head fall down as the feeling of tight heat threatened to overtake him.

“God, Louis, just move already,” said Harry with his voice barely a rasp. Louis nodded quietly and started to move his hips, feeling Harry’s body roll with the movement.

“It wasn’t my goons,” said Harry, breath escaping in tiny huffs as they moved together. His hand came up to trail the tattoo on Louis’ collarbone

“What?” gasped Louis, forcing his body to still, arms straining with the weight of holding him up. Harry looked up at him, eyes hooded. Louis’ pulse pounded in his ears, making it hard to concentrate.

“It wasn’t my people that shot you,” he said, pressing his thumb lightly into the scarring on Louis’ shoulder. “I mean, I knew you were up to something, but I really wanted to get to know you.”

Harry pushed against Louis then, shattering any train of thought Louis was trying to assemble.

“I really didn’t want to kill you,” said Louis, as his hips twitched feebly. “I could have shot you by the pool, but I didn’t.”

Harry blinked, a dimpled smile breaking out on his face.

“I’m really glad you didn’t,” he said, gripping Louis’ arse with broad hands, forcing him to pick up the pace.

Harry threw his head back as he came, tendons in his neck stretched taut, showing his teeth in a quiet groan. Louis came with a shout, collapsing boneless on top of Harry as Harry’s arms came up to hold him. They breathed together for a while, silently enjoying the press of each other’s bodies.

When Harry came back from the shower, Louis pretended to have fallen asleep in his underwear, just to see if Harry would do something. But Harry just let the towel drop away and crawled into bed, curling up by Louis’ side.

Louis felt a pang of guilt low in his stomach as he put his arm around Harry, lulling him to sleep.

Louis had assumed his position, fully dressed in his suit, straddling a chair with his arms crossed on the back of it, staring at the bed, when Harry’s phone started to ring.

He picked it up and looked at the screen – Ben W. it said. Louis palmed the phone, looking at Harry who just began to stir.

“Wh–” he mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep. He jolted awake when he tried to rub his eyes and found his hands restricted; bound to the bedframe with ripped sheets, just like his feet.

Louis saw Harry’s eyes travel from the intricate knots around his wrists, to his bound ankles, to Louis perched on the chair.

“Kinky,” he said, and Louis heard the wariness in his tone. “You could have asked me first though.”

“Cute,” said Louis, holding up the phone. “I’m assuming Ben W. is the one and only Ben Winston.”

He saw Harry twitch ineffectually against his restraints.

“I have to answer,” he said, an urgent note to his voice. “Please, Louis, give me the phone.”

The phone kept ringing.

“Only if you tell me where Winston is leaving his personal assistant when he leaves for Sierra Leone.”

Louis voice was impassioned, cold. It didn’t reflect the guilt that flared up inside him at the obviously hurt look on Harry’s face.

“What – Zayn? Why do you care about him?” he said. He’d stopped struggling against the sheets, realizing the knots tightened with every pull.

“Never mind why. Do you think he’ll give up soon?” Louis said, looking at the still ringing phone in his hand.

“He never travels far without Zayn,” Harry said, tripping over the words in his rush to get them out. “He’ll probably be left at the hotel where they’re staying, in Winston’s suite.”

“I know where Winston’s staying,” Liam said in Louis’ earpiece.

“Please let me answer; he’ll kill me,” said Harry. Louis answered for him, putting the phone on speaker as he placed it on Harry’s stomach.

“Harry? Hello?” came a voice from the phone speaker. Louis noted the posh, British accent, the measured tone of voice.

“Ben, hi,” said Harry, eyes shooting daggers at Louis. “Sorry, I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

“I don’t want to know about you sex life, Styles,” said Ben Winston, humour lacing his voice. “Just tell me if you got the information I needed.”

“Yeah, I texted the details to your assistant,” said Harry, a genuine frown appearing on his face. He glanced over at Louis, a confused look in his eyes.

Louis tilted his head. So Harry did really not know that Zayn was an undercover agent. Man, Zayn was good.

There was a short pause before Ben said,

“Ah. Well, it was an eventful evening last night; he must have forgotten to tell me.”

There was a dreadful promise in his words, and Louis could only hope Liam didn’t pick up on it. Judging by the harsh exhalation in his earpiece, though, Liam did catch the implication and wasn’t happy about it.

Harry started to say something, but there was a beep from his phone. Ben Winston apparently didn’t waste time on goodbyes.

“Alright, then,” said Louis, getting up and brushing off his jacket. “See you later, Styles.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?” said Harry indignantly, making Louis pause with his hand on the door.

“Well, you’re a resourceful lad, Harry. I’m sure you’ll get out of here soon,” said Louis lightly, trying to swallow the bile rising in his throat. Harry scoffed and fell back a little from where he’d been straining to sit up.

“We really aren’t that different, then,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. “We both sleep with people for information. You’re just shit at aftercare.”

“I didn’t –” Louis cut himself off, realizing there was absolutely nothing he could say to his defense. He sighed, puffed up his shoulders, ignored Liam’s warning in his ear and went over to the bed.

“I’m really glad I didn’t kill you, you know,” he murmured, undoing the knot around Harry’s left wrist. Louis leaned down to press a kiss to the black star inked on the inside of his bicep, and Harry let him, watching him under heavy eyelids.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Louis,” said Harry dryly, sitting up and getting to work on the other knots.

Louis blew him a kiss and disappeared out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> I think I'll update twice a week after all - Sunday and Wednesday if life doesn't get in the way!


	3. Chapter 3 and Intermission

**Freetown, Sierra Leone**

“Are you sure this will work?” asked Louis, peering through the scope of his trusted rifle. It was trained on the façade of a hotel in the western part of Freetown, more specifically at the balcony belonging to the suite Ben Winston was in.

“They know MI6 wouldn’t be stupid enough to send someone in at this juncture,” said Liam as he put in the earpiece and checked that the mic was well hidden in his wristwatch.

“Good thing we’re just stupid enough, then” said Louis tersely. He was still angry at himself for being so affected by Harry. Maybe he should think about retiring.

Liam had said nothing, only looked at him when he returned. But Liam could _look_ at people and make them feel bad about that one time when they were twelve and trapped ants in a glass. Not like he was angry at you for trapping ants, just disappointed.

_Fuck Liam, honestly_ , thought Louis as he righted the headpiece that allowed him to use his hands freely. The heat was oppressive even though it was rainy season, and Louis tugged at the collar of his t–shirt irritably. It didn’t help that they were stationed in a dusty attic without air conditioning.

“It’s a simple plan,” said Liam, squaring his shoulders. Louis automatically checked that his gun wasn’t visible in the shoulder holster below his jacket. “Winston will leave minimal security with Zayn, trusting that he has nowhere to run, nor any means to.”

“So you go in, take out whatever security is left, you two run while I cover your backs and create a diversity for Winston _et consortes_ ,” finished Louis. “Easy–peasy. Only about a million things that could go to hell.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, Lou,” said Liam, with a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Louis rolled his eyes, but there was a responding twitch of his lips.

“Please, Payno. Not in this climate.”

Liam settled down beside him in a cross–legged position.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly. Louis gave a noncommittal hum. He’d never tell Liam, but it felt good to be on a team again. Having someone to cover your back almost made up for the fear of letting them down.

“Uh–oh,” said Louis, head snapping to attention. “I see movement. That’s our guy, moving out.”

“How many are with him?” asked Liam, and Louis could tell he was stopping himself from pressing his face up against the slit in the wall where the rifle was resting.

“I count four – no, five. Yikes, Benny can’t be all too sure of the deal if he brings that much backup,” said Louis, clicking his tongue against his uneven row of lower teeth. Liam nodded, face tense as he readied himself to move out.

Louis watched as Ben Winston and his henchmen packed themselves into two black cars.

They waited until the cars disappeared on the busy street, and the traffic had resumed its normal rhythm before Liam stood up.

“This is my cue,” he said and started lowering himself through the hole in the attic floor, the only entrance and exit from the place.

“Be safe,” said Louis before he could bite his tongue. Liam sent him a cheeky wink before he disappeared, and Louis settled down to wait.

The opening stage of the plan went flawlessly. Liam took out the two posted guards with almost laughable ease, barging into the hotel room like the biggest, damndest hero there was. Louis grinned to himself as he discerned movement through the curtains to the suite – no doubt Zayn getting up to greet his saviour.

“Zayn,” came Liam’s somewhat breathless voice through the comm. Louis squirmed a little where he lay in the dust; he’d give anything to see their faces right now.

He could discern Zayn replying, “Liam, what are you–” before the sound of a fistfight took over. Louis winced – there had to be a third guard inside the suite. Evidently Liam handled him, because it was only seconds later when he heard Liam say,

“We’re rescuing you, Zayn!”

“We?” said Zayn, and Liam laughed a little.

“You’ll never believe who I managed to get to help me.”

“Shut up, shut up!” Louis hissed urgently into his mouthpiece. “Jesus, Liam, the place might be bugged! Get the fuck out of there.”

“Right, come on then, Zayn.”

Liam’s breathing seemed amplified, somehow, as Louis waited for Zayn’s reply.

_What’s the bloody hold up?_ thought Louis, pressing his eye against the scope, as if it would provide x–ray vision.

“Liam,” came Zayn’s voice, finally. It was hard to make out, it was so quiet. “Didn’t you stop to think for one second why Winston didn’t kill me as soon as he found out I was MI6? _Why_ HQ wanted me dead instead of rescued.”

“What are you saying?” said Liam, and a leaden weight settled in Louis’ stomach.

“I’m working for Ben now, Liam.”

“No,” said Liam, and Louis could practically hear him shake his head. “No, come on Zayn, I know you. You’re playing some kind of double game.”

The sound of a thud transmitted through the earpiece, and Louis’ mouth dropped open. Did Zayn just whack Liam over the head? But no, the sound of voices, one Zayn’s and the other unfamiliar, started conversing, before they went quiet. Louis could barely make out a scuffling noise before it, too, died away.

“Liam?” tried Louis. “Liam, what’s going on?”

There was no reply, and Louis swore loudly. He started to crawl up, making to leave when he heard a voice in his earpiece.

“I don’t know who this is, but stay right where you are. Winston will be right back and tell me where he’s taking Liam. You can save him then.”

“Zayn? Zayn!” tried Louis, but Zayn’s breathing remained steady. So he had Liam’s mic, but not his earpiece. Louis quickly shut off his mouthpiece, in case Winston’s men found Liam’s earpiece and decided to listen to it.

He didn’t have to wait long – it was maybe ten minutes before the black cars rolled up by the hotel entrance. Louis caught a glimpse of Ben Winston storming inside, his expensive white coat flaring out behind him.

Maybe two minutes later, Louis could hear a door slam, and Winston’s voice saying,

“Zayn? What happened?”

“MI6 tried to extract me. Your men took care of it.”

“Zayn ratted him out immediately,” said the unfamiliar voice Louis had heard earlier. “They seemed to have sent only one, there was no back–up.”

“Well, it would seem you’ve proven your true loyalty, Malik,” said Winston, and there was a slight rustle. Louis frowned.

“Don’t know how you could doubt me, Ben,” came Zayn’s voice, an uncharacteristic soft lilt to his tone. Louis gagged exaggeratedly, even though no one could see or hear him. Zayn was a good actor, but Louis didn’t need to hear this.

“Did you know the agent?” asked Ben.

“No,” lied Zayn. “I think they sent someone who didn’t know me, in case they had to take me down.”

_See, that would have been smart_ , thought Louis, listening intently. If he wasn’t in hiding, he’d have a professional bone to pick with Simon Cowell.

“Then you won’t mind if I take care of him personally?” said Winston, sending cold shivers down Louis’ spine. He had no idea how Zayn could sound so unaffected when he replied,

“Not at all. But won’t you be late for your meeting?”

“I’ll hold him on the ship, deal with him on the way back. Easy to dump the body into the sea then. I just had to check up on you first.”

“You’re too sweet,” said Zayn, and Louis had no idea how on earth he managed to sound sincere.

“Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Not the first time someone’s tried to kill me, you know. Go on, you really can’t miss this meeting, darling.”

Louis winced and stuck out his tongue as the sound of a wet kiss reached him. Zayn needed a serious raise if he ever got out of this alive.

There was the sound of a door slamming again, some more rustling and another door closing, more gently.

“The ship is called _Bombay Sapphire_ ,” came Zayn’s voice loud and clear, as if he were holding the mic to his mouth. “Liam is on his way there now. We’re relocating now, but don’t try to rescue me before I’ve finished my mission.”

“But how the fuck will we know when that is?” exclaimed Louis, but Zayn said nothing more and the mic was cut off, Zayn probably switching it off until he could use it again.

“Fuck me,” Louis added, and scrambled to assemble his rifle, before realizing he would have to go in alone, into close range combat, to get Liam out.

“Great, just fucking great,” he mumbled to himself before he left it in the attic.

Louis questioned a handful of people, parted with a handful of bills, and was pointed in the direction of _Bombay Sapphire._ Louis felt woefully underdressed in his t–shirt, ripped jeans and sneakers, but at least he blended in with the street crowd as he circled the giant freighter, looking for a way in.

_Nothing for it, then_ , he thought, as dusk fell. He checked that his handgun was safely tucked into the back of his trousers and sprang onto one of the giant chains tethering the ship to the harbor.

He scurried aboard as quickly as he could, counting on the size of the ship to keep eventual guards spread out. Louis was in luck; there was one single guard smoking by the railing when he turned a corner, his sawed–off shotgun leaning on his leg.

Louis stepped in close, pressing his own gun into the neck of the guard.

“Where’s your prisoner?” he asked, voice low.

“Down in the holding, probably,” bubbled the guard immediately, apparently not up for playing stoic.

“Thanks, mate,” said Louis, whipping him over the head with the butt of the gun and quickly dumping him overboard. Louis wasn’t about to shed tears over his fate, so he went about his business, finding a way inside the ship.

Louis found a door leading inside the freighter, and waited pressed up to the wall next to it. He didn’t have to wait long before someone opened it; he swiftly hit them over the head and snuck inside. It was a very old trick, but Louis went with what worked. The stale air inside the freighter hit him like a wall, heavy with the smell of iron and dirt.

He was all too aware that he was running around on borrowed time though – he had to find Liam and get the hell out before an alarm was raised. They had apparently bought the idea of Liam going in without backup because the security was, frankly, abysmal. Louis hurried down a corridor in the cargo hold, peeking into the windows of every door he passed. Most of the cells were stacked with boxes, no doubt containing the weapons Winston was about to sell.

Louis looked so quickly into each and every one that he was halfway to the next one before it registered that, no, hold on, that had been Liam bound up in that last one. He retraced his steps quickly, and set to work opening the heavy door.

The weak, yellow light of the corridor flooded the cell and made Liam blink repeatedly as he looked up at Louis. There were tear tracks in the dirt on his cheeks, and his face bore marks of abuse even though his brown eyes were as clear as ever when they met Louis’ gaze.

Louis felt an urgent need to kill every man that had ever laid a hand on Liam, but he settled for trying to get him out of his handcuffs. Louis counted his lucky stars that they were of an old model, simple enough to be picked open.

“Zayn didn’t want to be saved,” Liam said, brokenly, as Louis got his hands free.

“Not yet, you idiot,” said Louis, setting to work on the cuffs binding Liam’s feet. “He sold you out to win Ben’s trust. I can’t believe you fell for his lies.”

“What, d’you mean–”

The final shackle opened with a clanging noise and Louis got up, hauling Liam to his feet as well.

“Zayn still loves you, we can save him later, we need to get out now,” he said, clutching Liam’s shoulder as comfortingly as he could.

It was like seeing the sun break out after days of heavy clouds when Liam smiled.

“I could kiss you right now,” he said, so happily you would think he hadn’t just been shackled at the bottom of a dirty freighter about to be tortured and killed. Louis grimaced and started dragging Liam towards the door.

“Save it for Zayn,” he muttered, peering around the doorframe while Liam tried to massage life back into his legs.

They made it as far as the deck, before someone caught onto them. Louis put a bullet in the man, but not before he’d managed to shout a warning.

Louis fired off several shots so that Liam could clamber down onto the docks, before praying to all deities he knew and jumping after him, hoping that he wouldn’t get a bullet in his back for the trouble.

Apparently, none of Winston’s men were eager enough to prove themselves to risk being shot. Liam and Louis lost themselves in Freetown’s nightlife easily enough, despite Liam being covered in dirt and blood.

It was close to midnight when they got back to the shitty apartment they’d rented. Louis wished for nothing more than to just take a long, hot shower and forget about the mission, and judging by the dark circles under Liam’s eyes, he was thinking along the same lines.

When they turned on the light, Louis saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and whipped out his gun. To his astonishment, he found Harry Styles sprawled out in the armchair in the corner of the room. His wild curls were bound in a green scarf and a lazy smile played at his lips.

“How did you find us,” said Louis blankly, while Liam slowly moved towards his still open laptop and the weapons hidden in the drawer below it.

Harry laughed.

“I saw your ankle tattoos, Louis,” he said. “Didn’t take a genius to figure out who you were. And the downside to being an independent businessman is that you have to leave a way for people to find you. Otherwise you wouldn’t get any clients.”

He stretched a little. in the armchair, like a cat waking up from a nap.

“You might want to start wearing socks if you want to keep you alias a secret,” he added, mildly.

“Give me one reason not to shoot you,” said Louis calmly, gun trained at Harry’s chest. Harry crossed his legs.

“Apparently an MI6 agent tried to take out Ben Winston’s personal assistant. He’s blaming me for leaking the information. I’ll be lucky to survive the night, to be honest.”

“How is this my problem?” asked Louis, repressing the memory of how Harry looked after an orgasm. It was surprisingly difficult.

Harry played with the silver ring on his left forefinger, staring at Louis intently.

“This is your chance to get me on your team. My best shot at survival is bringing Ben down,”  he said, voice slow and deliberate.

“I think he’s telling the truth, lads,” came a voice from Liam’s laptop. It was only years of training that made it possible for both Liam and Louis to suppress their knee–jerk reaction.

“Niall?” said Liam, astonishment colouring his voice.

“Bloody hell,” said Louis, groaning internally.

 

**Intermission**

**London, the United Kingdom**

Niall liked to think he was a well–balanced, smart person. You didn’t get to become one of MI6’s best paid tech guys if you weren’t smart and well–balanced.

Because he was well–balanced, he accepted his month–long paid leave after being told he was “too close to the mission” with a calm nod.

Because he was smart, he still kept tabs on the mission while keeping HQ completely unaware of this fact.

They were also unaware that it was Niall who had covered Liam’s tracks when Liam decided to go off the grid after refusing to finish his last mission. Because Niall was nothing if not loyal, and he would die himself before seeing Zayn die or Liam dragged to court for not killing him.

Niall came home to his spacious, if somewhat sparsely decorated, flat and collapsed onto his sofa with a sigh.

He scratched his hair and pondered his options; fast food or a well–cooked meal that would take hours to prepare.

He had just settled on some takeaway curry, when there was a subtle beep from his home station signaling that Liam Payne’s laptop was in use. Niall kept tabs on Liam’s laptop because a) he was worried about how his friend was doing and b) Liam, bless his old–fashioned, straightforward little heart, was completely unable to come up with a safe password.

“Right, right,” mumbled Niall to himself as he ambled over to his office chair. “Last I saw you, you were somewhere in Spain, frowning at your laptop as usual.”

He plopped down, tapped his way into his own system and saw that Liam apparently was in Sierra Leone.

“Don’t tell me you’re closing in on Ben Winston,” said Niall as he activated Liam’s camera.

The face that popped up on his screen seemed familiar, but Niall couldn’t place the green eyes and the long, brown curls. It was definitely not Liam using the laptop, at least. The man was leaned close, a little crease between his brows, and Niall couldn’t see anything of the surroundings.

He could, however, see that whoever it was was using Liam’s laptop to try to gain access to his encrypted files. Unlike the laptop itself, they were protected by MI6 generated passwords and proved a bigger hurdle for this intruder.

Niall wondered if he should play with the man a bit, maybe fuck with his coding before freezing him out completely. Then his stomach growled, and he decided speed was of the essence.

With a couple of keystrokes, he activated the laptop speaker and said,

“Oi. Who the fuck are you?”

He saw the man jolt back, raising his hands and making a face like he’d touched something slimy.

“Who the fuck are _you_?” he replied with a very genuine British accent; Niall could tell.

“Nevermind who I am,” said Niall, leaning back in his chair. “Why are you using this laptop?”

“I’m not sure if you’ll believe me, but I actually want to help the owner of this laptop,” replied the man, also leaning back a bit, looking the laptop up and down as if he could discern just where the tinny Irishman was hidden.

He was wearing a pink, floral patterned shirt, and Niall felt a sudden kinship with this stranger.

“And who do you think the owner is?” said Niall, crossing his arms and leaning forward.

“Um,” said the stranger slowly. “Louis Tomlinson, or The Rogue?”

The name Louis sent a little pang through Niall, like it always did when he was reminded of his first unsuccessful mission. In the same instant, he recognized the man.

“You’re Harry Styles!” he said, banging his fist on the table. Styles jerked again, staring at the laptop.

“Yes,” he said. “And I want to help Louis take Ben Winston down. Who are you?”

“More importantly, who is this Louis Tomlinson, who you think this laptop belongs to?” said Niall, while adding another layer of encryption to all of Liam’s files. Styles seemed to notice, and started working against him immediately.

“You MI6?” asked Harry, the noise of keyboard tapping translating over the tinny laptop speakers. Niall chuckled.

“Not right now. Why?”

“I guess the MI6 would remember him as one Louis Austin.”

Niall froze on in the middle of tapping out a sequence.

“You’re shitting me,” he said. Harry shook his head with a little smile.

“I really am not. He goes by The Rogue and his skillset is for hire. I’m just trying to find out who it is that hired him because I’m looking for a way to take Ben Winston down,” he said patiently, like explaining the matter to a child.

Niall shook his head as well.

“No, no,” he said, rubbing his forehead with a thumb and forefinger. “No, Louis died. Five years ago, trying to take you out.”

“See, that’s what I thought,” said Harry, laughing a little like it was a funny anecdote. “But no, that bastard is still alive and stirring up shit.”

“I’ll bloody kill him,” whispered Niall, staring at his computer screen, seeing the vague reflection of his own flabbergasted face in the surface.

“What was that?” asked Harry, still diligently tapping away. Niall realized he was losing ground, and got back to work instantly.

“Hold on,” he said, squinting. “You’ve been tight with Ben Winston for ages. Why are you turning on him now?”

“Because _someone_ made me give up apparently valuable intel, and Winston is out for my head,” said Harry, sounding irritated for the first time.

Niall gave a loud cackle at that.

“That does sound like the Louis I knew,” he said. “But I’d be a lot more inclined to believe your good intentions if you stopped trying to break into my friend’s laptop.”

“So this is not Louis’ laptop,” said Harry. “Well, to be honest, I’m a bit relieved. I couldn’t bear the thought of having slept with someone who had the password BATMANISTHEBEST123.”

“He’s been back from the dead for five minutes and he’s already slept with you. That definitely sounds like the Louis I knew,” groaned Niall, burying his face in one hand as he kept typing with the other.

Harry shrugged, smiling shyly.

“Will you be more inclined to believe my good intentions if I tell you Ben Winston’s precise itinerary for the following three weeks?”

“It’s a start,” said Niall, and cracked his knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm home sick today so I could upload this chapter earlier than I thought! Hope you enjoyed it, leave a comment if you did :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Granada, Spain**

Louis _knew_ Niall would already be waiting for them back at his villa in Spain. It was still quite a shock to see him sitting in the armchair beside the entrance to the living room as soon as they entered; that same mop of dumb, bleached hair on top of his familiar, smiling face.

_He’s let his roots grow out_ , was all Louis could think before the smile slipped off Niall’s face, mouth turning into a close–lipped frown as he stood up. His blue eyes were thoroughly cataloguing Liam’s state, then Harry’s, and lastly, Louis’.

“Hey, Ni,” Louis tried weakly, giving a small wave. Niall said nothing, marching up to Louis with such determination that Louis hunched, readying himself for a well–deserved punch. He wasn’t even going to try to defend himself.

“You,” was all Niall said before enveloping Louis in a bone crushing hug that lasted for so long that Louis had to relax into it after his initial surprise.

“Don’t even say anything, you absolute wanker,” mumbled Niall into Louis’ shoulder. His voice wavered, and a Louis felt a lump form in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Niall,” he whispered, tentatively hugging back. He tried to will away the tremors running through Niall’s body – or was it his own? Louis couldn’t tell.

Niall sniffled loudly as he leaned back, keeping his hands on Louis’ shoulders to look at him.

“Five years, and not even a postcard,” he said, smiling a little even though his eyes were red–rimmed and shining.

“You know how it is,” replied Louis, trying desperately to keep his voice from breaking. “Never a moment’s peace in this line of work.”

They looked at each other for another beat before Niall let out a sigh and turned to Harry.

“Pleased to finally meet you,” he said, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand. “It’s a lot easier to admire your skills and track record now that I know you weren’t the cause of Louis’ demise.”

“I’m flattered,” replied Harry, taking Niall’s hand with a smile. Louis still wanted to sip clear alcohol from that fucking dimple. He shook his head and pressed his palms to his eyes for a second while Niall and Liam exchanged hugs.

It had been a long flight, Harry sitting between Liam and Louis, and not a word had been exchanged between the three of them. Louis was feeling the strain now.

“Right, then,” said Liam, clearing his throat and moving into the living room, hoisting his luggage on his shoulder. Niall and Harry followed, Louis trailing after them, feeling somewhat left out.

“Zayn has one of our mics,” explained Liam to Niall as he started to unpack on the coffee table, “so we’re hoping he’ll contact us when he’s ready to be extracted.”

“In case he doesn’t–” began Louis, but was interrupted by Niall.

“We’ll keep an eye on Winston, thanks to the schedule Harry’s given us.”

Harry gave Louis a sunny smile over the coffee table. Louis rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen to get people refreshments.

He might have faked his own death for five years, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to be a fantastic host.

The next few days followed mostly the same pattern: Liam spending most of his time stationed by the little radio Niall had set up to broadcast any sound Zayn’s mic would emit, frowning deeper every day it just kept giving out white noise, Niall going over various possible plans to extract Zayn according to Ben Winston’s schedule, Harry lounging on the veranda, basking in the sun while occasionally shouting details of Winston’s habits to Niall.

Louis went jogging at least twice a day because he couldn’t stand living with other people after so long on his own in a house meant for one person.

It was after returning from such an outing, stripped down to boxers with sweaty strands of hair plastered to his face, that he went to the bathroom and found the door locked.

“Come on, Liam!” he shouted, and banged on the door repeatedly. “I need a shower, let me in.”

He heard the shower being turned off, the rustle of the shower curtain, and then the doorknob turned.

“About time,” he muttered, and went to push the door open all the way. It turned out not to be Liam. Harry stared expectantly at him with water dripping from his dark curls, tanned skin turned pink with heat and glistening with droplets.

Louis wasn’t proud of how he gaped. He saw Harry’s gaze darken as he tightened his grip on the towel slung around his waist. Right. Harry probably wasn’t too happy with him. Louis having tied him to a bed and extorted him for information and everything. Yeah, alright.

Louis turned away a little, on the verge of apologizing.

“You’d better not have used all the warm water,” he said instead. Harry only snorted, and walked off, leaving a trail of water on the hardwood floor in his wake. Louis stared after him for a beat, mesmerized by the broad expanse of his shoulders and the way his hips swayed with every step.

After shaking his head quickly, he slunk into the bathroom, locking the door behind him to have a quick, guilty wank in the shower.

Once, when Louis returned from a grocery run, he found Niall and Harry deep in a discussion about hair products. Any other day, Louis would gladly have joined them, but seeing Harry and Niall laughing together sent a pang of jealousy through him.

He unloaded the bags on the kitchen counter, furiously sorting through dairy products and cereal. He had no right to expect that he and Niall would fall back into that easy camaraderie they’d enjoyed five years ago – hell, it was a miracle Niall even tolerated him. The fact that Harry hadn’t stabbed him in his sleep was also something of a miracle, but that might have to do with the fact that Louis locked the door to his room every night out of habit.

After putting away the groceries, he made one of those nutritious shakes that Liam seemed to live on, because Louis was sure he’d skipped lunch again. He stormed right past the living room to his study, which had turned into a veritable high–tech laboratory where Liam hid out by the radio.

“No sound yet?” he asked, mostly out of obligation as he gave Liam the shake and slumped down on the office chair. Liam shook his head mournfully, taking a sip and apparently deeming it suitable for consumption.

Louis groaned loudly and slumped even more, for effect. Liam looked at him, unimpressed by his obvious distress.

“Well, what?” he asked at last, crossing his arms.

“I can’t believe we’ve let Harry Styles, the man responsible for _my near death_ , live in _my house_!” Louis said, pouring every ounce of his indignation into the cadence of his voice.

Liam gave him a firm, serious look.

“But you didn’t die, Louis,” he said, sternly, “and Harry is our best chance of shadowing Ben Winston, which is our best chance at saving Zayn.”

“But he hates me, Liam,” said Louis. There wasn’t a whine to his voice, there totally wasn’t.

Liam sighed, looking up to the ceiling as if looking for his patience there.

“Well, to be honest, Louis, wouldn’t you?”

Louis opened his mouth to retort, but Liam’s words suddenly hit him like a sledgehammer. He gaped quietly for a moment before Liam sighed again and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lou, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “This whole waiting thing has me on edge.”

“No, that’s alright,” Louis found himself saying. “I mean, I… There’s not exactly a lot of love lost between us.”

Liam smiled at that, a sad little upturning of his mouth.

“Well, I’ll just– I’ll,” said Louis, getting up and brushing off his hands on his thighs. “I’ll leave you to it. Give a holler if there’s any sign of life.”

Louis ambled out of the study as if in a daze. He entered the living room just as Niall was saying,

“–he’s a lot to handle, that’s for sure.”

He broke off to stare at Louis like a deer caught in the headlights. Harry was biting at his thumb, looking from Niall to Louis with his stupidly gorgeous green eyes.

“I’m just going to make dinner,” said Louis into the awkward silence that ensued.

“Oh, god no!” exclaimed Niall, while Harry got up.

“Why don’t I make it instead,” he said with a strange glance over at Louis before disappearing into the kitchen.

“No offense, Louis,” said Niall, blinking up at him, “but last time you nearly burned the kitchen down.”

“Yeah, whatever,” muttered Louis and turned on his heels, wanting nothing more than to slam a couple of doors and maybe throw himself on his bed and cry into his pillow for a bit. Since he was a grown–up, he went for a swim in the ocean instead.

When he emerged, dripping with saltwater, he toweled off quickly and threw on some sweatpants to join the rest for dinner. He might have company, but Louis wasn’t planning on giving up the privilege of being shirtless whenever he felt like it.

Harry had prepared a fantastic _Gratin Dauphinois_ with a side of roast beef and vegetables, and Niall complimented him loudly in between bites, and sometimes during them. Harry kept smiling at Niall and frowning at Louis – or at least, that’s what it seemed like to Louis. He ate in sullen silence, very slowly despite finding the food absolutely delicious.

Liam finished hastily and excused himself to go brood by the radio again. Niall finished second, even though he ate the amount of Harry and Louis’ portions combined, then ambled off to digest it in peace, leaving the two of them in a somewhat strained silence.

“Well, then,” said Louis as he got up to clear the table. Harry did the same, and they worked in tandem for a while until they both grabbed the dish holding what remained the gratin.

“I’ve got this, thanks,” said Harry slowly.

“No, you made the dinner, it’s only fair I clean up,” insisted Louis petulantly and tugged at the dish. A silent battle ensued with them staring at each other before Harry let go and raised his hands in exasperated defeat.

“Have it your way, you insufferable little man.”

“Did you just call me little?” protested Louis loudly, setting down the dish with a resounding clang.

“So what if I did,” said Harry, eyes narrowing dangerously. Louis threw his head back in a disdainful laugh.

“Well, you’ve seen me naked. You know it’s a lie,” he said with a sly smile, putting a hand on his hip.

There was a breathless moment where they just stared at each other before Harry was all up in Louis’ space, bending him over the kitchen counter and kissing him senseless.

“What?” Louis tried to say, but seeing as Harry was currently sucking at his lower lip, it came out more like a ‘Gnagh?’

“You are so irresistible,” said Harry and leaned back a bit, breathing harshly. Louis blinked at him.

“Come again?” he said with a squeaky voice he didn’t quite believe belonged to himself. Harry looked searchingly into his eyes, a look of wonder on his face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve not realized how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you,” Harry said like Louis was an idiot. He rather felt like an idiot.

“Um,” he said. “I, uh, well. I haven’t really – I thought you wanted to kill me.”

Harry only looked more serious as he trailed the hem of Louis’ sweatpants with his thumb.

“Well, that too,” he said, matter–of–factly. “But mostly I just want to kiss your stupid mouth all the time.”

“Why?” said Louis, making Harry give a frustrated groan.

“Are you going to kiss me back or are we going to talk about our feelings?” he said with an exasperated tone. Louis looked down, honestly considering the question for a second. His gaze snagged on Harry’s full lips, slightly parted over a shuddering exhale . He then gave Harry the brightest of smiles before leaning in for a kiss.

He let Harry hoist him up onto the counter and hooked his legs around Harry’s waist without losing contact with his mouth for one second. Harry grabbed at Louis’ hips and trailed down his thighs with strong hands while Louis buried his fingers in Harry’s thick hair, relishing the moans it pulled out of him when he pushed his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

He was so caught up in it that he didn’t hear Niall yelling into the study that Liam now owed him twenty quid.

 

That night they might have kept both Liam and Niall awake with the bed creaking underneath them as Louis rode Harry, his hands clamped onto Harry’s shoulders and hair falling in soft strands across his eyes.

Every move from Louis pulled a soft groan from Harry’s lips as he looked up at Louis with an almost awed expression. His hands were clutching at Louis’ thighs, fingers digging into taut muscle. Louis bit his lip in concentration, changing his position a little to grind down easier.

“Yeah,” gasped Harry, arching up, hands scrabbling for purchase as he tried to pull Louis’ closer. Louis let out a breathy laugh, too far gone to actually respond intelligibly as he felt his orgasm start to pool at the base of his spine.

Harry climaxed with a low moan, pressing his warm breaths into Louis’ shoulder as he bit down. Louis clenched his teeth around a guttural moan as he threw his head back and came on Harry’s stomach.

Harry fell down onto his back, dragging Louis with him. They lay panting into each other’s skin for a while, neither of them moving an inch.

“I can’t believe you,” said Harry at last, words muffled a bit by Louis’ shoulder.

“Mhmm,” agreed Louis as he nuzzled Harry’s neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. “I may be little, but I contain multitudes.”

Harry made a move to sit up then, and Louis rolled off to lie on his side. He leaned on his arm and watched as Harry disposed of the condom.

“Paraphrasing Walt Whitman? Really?” said Harry finally, lying down in front of Louis, looking at him intently with his huge, green eyes.

Louis yawned.

“Let’s do that again sometime,” he said, even though he was already slipping away into sleep.

He didn’t notice when Harry tucked the duvet around him, looking at him with a soft, private smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why yes, we managed to get a domestic interlude within a spy au. we're just that good.


	5. Chapter 5

“What’s this then?” asked Liam, pointing at yet another screen. Niall swiveled around in the office chair with a groan; even his unearthly patience wearing thin with Liam’s restlessness. Louis winced in sympathy and handed Niall his coffee, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he did so.

“It’s the shipping manifests of all the ships we think belong to Winston’s operation,” he explained. Liam stared at the screen with a furrowed brow.

“One of them logged a change of course just ten minutes ago,” Liam said, making both Louis and Niall crowd around him immediately.

“They’re headed to the Port of London!” said Niall, mouth gaping and gaze locked at the single line declaring the changed course.

“If she’s headed for British waters–” began Louis, but was interrupted by Niall jumping up and down and exaltedly declaring,

“We’ve got him, Christ almighty, we’ve got him!”

“We have a _chance_ of getting him,” corrected Louis, giving Niall a surly glance. He then noticed Liam’s strangely straight posture, and gently touched his side.

“The ship is predicted to arrive tomorrow,” Liam said. “The same day Winston’s supposed to attend that fundraising gala in London.”

“What’s going on?” asked Harry, sticking his curly head in through the door, apparently curious about the raised voices.

Liam turned to him and grabbed his shoulder with such force that Louis had to suppress an urge to slap away his hand and hiss protectively.

“Are you absolutely certain Winston is going to bring Zayn to that gala?” he asked, his voice almost a growl. Harry nodded slowly, green eyes wide.

“Unless he’s completely changed his habits, which he wouldn’t,” he said with his usual, slow cadence. Louis settled for putting a hand on Liam’s shoulder, gently prying him away from Harry.

“Right, then!” said Liam, shrugging Louis’ hand off his shoulder. “We have a chance of getting solid dirt on Winston and extracting Zayn on home soil. We might never get another chance like this. I’m going in.”

“And they used to call me reckless,” muttered Louis, putting a hand to his eyes.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” asked Harry carefully while playing with the hem of his shirt. Liam turned his broad back to them, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Might not be, but I don’t care. It’s getting more dangerous for Zayn with every passing day!”

Louis exchanged glances with Niall, who shrugged helplessly, looking a little lost. Louis sighed.

“Alright then, Li,” he said. “Promise me you won’t make a move until we’ve got what we need on Winston.”

“We need to divide into two teams,” said Niall at the same time, turning back to his work station. “One team needs to go to the docks and catch that ship with its trousers down, so to speak. The other team needs to keep Winston under surveillance until we have proof to bring him down.”

Liam turned to them, a surprised look on his face.

“You’ll help me?” he asked. Harry put his arm around his shoulder, leaning down toward Niall.

“Of course we will,” he said amiably. “Now, I think I know how we can separate Ben and Zayn.”

 

**London, the United Kingdom**

“I work best alone,” was what Louis had said, insisting he be the one sent to the docks with high–end long distance recording equipment instead of his usual rifle, while Liam and Harry put on suits and went to attend the gala.

He found himself regretting his words, perched on a cold roof with all his equipment, shuddering in the wind as he peered at the dark outline of the M/S _North Star_ , a ship that _possibly_ held illegal armaments.

“You better be moving about soon, or I’ll have to come to you,” muttered Louis to himself, sniffing haughtily. The smell of rain was heavy in the air, and he didn’t much fancy being caught outside in a downpour.

“What’s that, Louis?” asked Niall in his ear.

“Nothing, Niall,” said Louis. Technically he wasn’t even alone, with Niall able to connect him to Liam and Harry at a moment’s notice, but he felt lonely after weeks cooped up with three other people. “How’s it look?”

“Liam and Harry have arrived now,” reported Niall. Louis could practically _hear_ the concentrated frown on his face. “They’re mingling. Man, your boy is good at small talk.”

“He’s not my boy,” protested Louis as he hunched down. He thought he’d detected some movement aboard the ship and tried to discern what was happening.

“So you’re saying my ears deceived me last night?” said Niall with a cackle. “I’m sure I heard several declarations of possessiveness.”

Louis did not blush, but he did clear his throat.

“Shut up,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “I need to go in again, plant some more listening devices. Their bridge is completely deserted.”

“Hold on,” said Niall, suddenly serious, and Louis froze in the middle of getting to his feet. “Winston’s not at the gala? Are you sure, Liam?”

At the same time, Louis saw a fleet of five cars roll up by the M/S _North Star_. Warning bells started ringing immediately, and Louis strained his eyes while he tucked his gun into his holster.

It was indeed Ben Winston himself, exiting one of the cars with a flourish as at least a dozen burly security guards flocked around him. Louis also saw a glimpse of a thin figure that could only be Zayn. The very brief visual sent an immediate spike of adrenaline through Louis – something was very wrong.

“He’s here,” he said into his comm. “He’s here with Zayn. Zayn looks – not good.”

“Shit,” said Niall, and then, “no, no, Liam, calm your shit. They’re at the docks. Louis has the situation under control. Right, Louis?”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries!” said Louis with a high–pitched voice, eyeing the buildings around him to see if he could somehow get closer to the ship without going down to ground level. “We’re just dandy. Maybe Winston being here will play into our hands.”

“Liam is on his way,” said Niall dejectedly, almost before Louis’ had finished. “Harry’s with him, but I don’t think that’s going to stop him.”

“Stop him from what?” asked Louis, fearing he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“From going in.”

Louis swore under his breath.

“Harry, stay in the car!” ordered Louis as he climbed down the roof. Liam had been out of the car almost before it had come to a halt, rushing out and onto the gangplank to the M/S _North Star_ , giving neither Louis nor Niall a chance to talk him down.

Louis and Harry looked at each other through the windshield as Louis raced past, hot on Liam’s tail. It was a brief glance, but Louis could see that Harry’s hair was mussed and that he was biting his lip.

He heard someone say, “Be careful” in his ear, but he couldn’t tell whether it was Harry or Niall.

“Always,” he replied, projecting all of his confidence in his voice as he barreled into the bowels of the ship, the trail of knocked–out henchmen a clear marker of where Liam was headed.

“Bloody hell, Payne,” muttered Louis, while adding, a little louder, “I’m right behind you Liam, don’t shoot me!”

Liam didn’t shoot him but didn’t stop either when Louis caught up with him.

“Are you even sure Winston’s headed this way?” hissed Louis in a half–whisper, falling into step with him.

Liam waved his gun a little haphazardly in front of them.

“He’s that way, judging by where these guards were posted!” he defended himself as he pressed himself to a corner to cover Louis when he went to look around it.

This was exactly when a horde of said guards descended upon them from two directions, clearly alerted by the noise Liam had made while taking out the rest.

Louis and Liam had the advantage of being able to fire without being afraid of hitting friends: a privilege not shared by their enemies. They managed to take out a handful before the fight turned to such close–range that guns were useless.

“I was out of bullets anyway,” said Liam carelessly, knocking one down with his elbow as he round–house kicked another. Louis was wrestling with a third, and responded only with a grunt.

“Take mine, then!” he bit out after finally getting the upper hand in the wrestling match. His hands were busy keeping the guard in a chokehold, but Liam sailed by, effortlessly grabbing the gun from Louis’ holster to shoot the last guard standing in the face. He then graciously conked Louis’ assailant over the head, almost sending Louis to the floor with an armful of unconscious beefcake.

“Have you forgotten everything we ever learned in spy school?” asked Louis, dusting himself off and giving Liam a reprimanding look.

Liam looked affronted.

“No offense, Louis,” he said as he turned to round the corner, “but you aren’t exactly the one to tell me off for not following the agent’s rule book.”

In his peripheral vision, Louis saw one of the knocked–down guards move. Louis reached for his gun, but his fingers tangled in thin air.

“Liam, look out!” he called, moving on pure instinct. He saw Liam turn back instead of ducking, so Louis threw himself to intercept the guard’s raised weapon.

He was too late; he saw the flash of the gun being fired, the shot echoing loudly in the enclosed space. Louis stumbled. There was a clatter as the bullet bounced off the wall and down to the floor, and it took Louis a moment to realize it had passed through him.

“Agent hit,” he heard Liam say into his mic as he took the guard down with a precise shot. “Louis, are you okay?”

“Peachy,” confirmed Louis, touching the blood that started to seep from the wound just below his right collarbone. He knew it had to hurt; he could feel the blood plastering his clothes to his back as well, but the pain wasn’t registering.

“Louis, come on,” said Liam, carefully supporting him and edging him towards the wall. “Sit down, there we go.”

Louis’ legs collapsed under him, and he came to lean on the wall with a dull thud.

“Hmm?” he said, blinking sluggishly at Liam, who ripped the jacket off one of the guards to fold it into a tight package.

“Press this against the wound,” he said, putting it to Louis’ chest, helping Louis’ fumbling hands to apply pressure to the right spot. The pain hit him like a nailgun to the forehead, making Louis throw his head back and bite down on a scream. His mind cleared up for an instant.

“Help is on the way,” whispered Liam urgently and Louis nodded, closing his eyes against the searing sensation flaring out from the wound.

“Yeah,” he gasped. “Go get Zayn. The sooner we can get out the better.”

“I can’t leave you,” said Liam, his brown eyes filled with worry.

Louis bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile.

“You bloody well can’t take me with you, neither. Help’s on the way, innit?”

Liam seemed torn, and Louis pushed at him weakly.

“Leave a gun with me; I can look after myself,” he said, not knowing if he was trying to convince Liam or himself.

“If the intel from the bridge is correct, Winston is about to leave on a helicopter,” came Niall’s urgent voice in their earpieces. Liam straightened up at this, and Louis nodded at him.

“Go on,” he said, pressing at the folded–up jacket to show he was capable of holding his own.

Liam gave an apologetic nod and put Louis’ gun by his side, scavenging another weapon for himself from the fallen guards. He set off at a half-jog back the way they came, shoulders hunched to make him a smaller target.

Louis slumped back, fingering the gun with his free hand. It was maybe five seconds later that he heard the sound of running feet echoing off the metal walls. He barely had the strength to lift the weapon; he wasn’t at all sure he could fire it.

To his immense relief, it was Harry that came around the corner, looking out of breath and still dressed in his immaculate suit. The relief turned to dread as Louis saw one of the guards get to his feet, readying himself to attack. Harry noticed Louis’ wide-eyed look of panic and immediately caught sight of the enemy.

Since Harry didn’t have a gun of his own, he simply reached up, grabbing hold of a bar running along the ceiling and hoisted himself up to kick out with his legs in one smooth motion. He caught his opponent off-guard, wrapping his legs around the man’s neck and using his thighs to twist the man around.

He let go of the bar, bringing the guard down with his full body weight, expertly slamming his head into the floor on impact with the heel of his hand.

Harry then kicked the head for good measure and rushed over to Louis’ side.

“How are you?” he asked, gently prying Louis’ fingers away from the wound. “Let me see, love.”

“That was brilliant,” said Louis, shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded. Harry’s eyes met his for a second before he returned to scrutinizing the wound.

“Is the bullet still in there?” he asked, biting his lip. Louis shook his head, smiling.

“Went straight through,” he said airily, watching Harry under heavy lids. Harry gave a tight–lipped nod, gently enlarging the hole in Louis’ shirt.

“I’ll stitch it,” he said, fishing out a small sewing kit from his chest pocket and crouching down to thread the needle.

Louis had to laugh. The laugh turned into a cough, which sent a fresh pulse of blood pooling down his now exposed chest.

“Always prepared, eh?” he gasped, head lolling to the side.

“Shh, don’t speak, darling,” said Harry, concentration evident in the tight expression on his face. Louis admired how his hand didn’t shake the slightest as he pushed the needle through skin. It registered as a small note in the symphony of pain that currently made up Louis’ body.

It didn’t take long; Harry quickly leaned down to bite off the thread before tying a tiny knot on the crude stitch.

“Let me get the back as well,” he said. Louis found his voice soothing and pleasant, wanting nothing more than rest his head on Harry’s broad, warm chest and fall asleep.

“Mhmm,” said Louis, realizing that somehow his eyes were closed.

“Louis, love, stay with me,” said Harry. A fresh wave of intense pain jostled Louis awake as Harry laid him down on his left side to get at the wound at the back of his shoulder.

“I’m with you,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “Are you trying to kill me, Styles?”

Harry let out a low chuckle as he finished stitching up the exit wound.

“You don’t need me for that,” he said, a hand coming up to softly brush at Louis elbow.

Suddenly, Louis was drowning. He could feel the waves battering him, the current trying to pull him down as he fought to stay above the surface. He tasted iron and salt on his tongue.

“Harry, Harry,” Louis gasped, fervently scrabbling to reach him, to ground himself. There was something very important he had to tell him. Harry grabbed his hand even though it was slippery with blood, crouching down beside him.

“Louis, I’m here,” he said, voice tinged with worry. “What is it?”

“It’s no love, I joke you,” gasped Louis, while stars clouded his vision. No, that wasn’t right. He tried to blink the stars away.

“I joke you too,” said Harry with a smile, sounding like he had tears in his eyes. But he was smiling? Louis blinked again, this time slowly, trying to bring these two opposites together.

“Harry,” said Louis, trying to squeeze his hand, but he couldn’t make his fingers obey. He vaguely registered Harry’s eyes, green and filled with water, and Louis felt himself being pulled under.

 

**Meanwhile**

Liam burst onto the deck, the pouring rain making all surfaces glisten. He could see the helicopter; Ben Winston’s telltale white coat a shining beacon through the sheets of water.

More importantly, Liam could see the slender figure by his side.

“Zayn.”

The name fell from his lips like a promise. He doubled his efforts, running as fast as he could towards the mighty sound of the rotors slicing air.

He could tell when the guards by the helicopter caught sight of him rushing across the deck because the sound of gunfire started echoing through the smattering of rain. Liam didn’t slow down; he only started to zig–zag, crouching lower.

He saw Zayn’s head snap towards him. Liam could also see the precise moment he recognized him because Zayn wasted no time in whipping out the gun from Ben Winston’s well–tailored trousers, bending his captor’s head backwards by his hair and pointing the muzzle of the weapon against his neck.

“Stop shooting or he dies,” rang Zayn’s clear voice through the air. Liam felt his heart soar.

“Put your guns down!” Ben Winston demanded hoarsely as he fought to stay still in Zayn’s iron grip. Liam reached them just as Winston’s men decided to obey orders, a number of weapons clattering to the ground.

“On your bellies,” ordered Liam, showing off the gun in his hand to persuade anyone who wasn’t easily convinced. There was only a moment’s hesitation before all present heeded his words, silently sliding to ground in unison.

“We have him, Niall,” said Liam into his mic, eyeing Zayn. He was still firmly pressing the gun into Winston’s neck, but he met Liam’s eyes with such a radiant smile that Liam had to inhale sharply.

“Police are already on their way,” said Niall in Liam’s ear, and Liam laughed. Niall was probably doing his victory dance where he sat by his station.

“Your charges will never hold,” said Winston arrogantly, even with a gun to his neck. Liam saw that his hand was worming its way over to a hidden pocket in his coat; he signaled to Zayn to let him up.

Winston righted himself as soon as Zayn let go, just about to pull out a weapon when Liam laid him down flat with a fist to the mouth.

He collapsed in a well–dressed heap, dead to the world as Liam threw caution to the wind and bent Zayn backwards over his body, sealing their lips in a kiss.

The sound of the helicopter rotor blades mingled with sirens, and Liam felt Zayn smile.

 

**Later**

“–but the helicopter was already off in the air! And Liam said to me, ‘Niall, how fast can you hack a dock crane?’ Is this fast enough, I say, and swing the thing around, this man taking off into a running leap. He grabs the hook, and I swing it around for him again so he flies through the air to grab a hold of the helicopter!”

Louis blinked slowly. Which was strange, because his eyes weren’t even open. He listened some more to the familiar, friendly Irish accent, willing himself to wake up.

“He shoots the henchmen at point blank, _pow pow_ , then punching Ben Winston himself in the face! ‘No one touches my man!” he says, right there. He then lifts Zayn here into his arms, jumping into the waters as the chopper crashes behind him, right? And the day is saved!”

“Bullshit,” croaked Louis, trying to lift his hand. Something was in the way, pulling at his long finger. He opened one eye, focusing blearily on his white surroundings.

“Louis!” he heard a chorus of voices utter, and he was swarmed by faces hovering over him.

“Come on, give him some space,” he heard another familiar voice, slow and sweet like honey. He turned his head towards it automatically, and Harry’s delightful dimpled face appeared before him.

“Hey, Louis,” said Harry, and Louis felt a warm hand enveloping his own.

“Hi, Harry,” he replied weakly. “So I survived?”

“You damn better have,” said Niall, unable to contain himself any longer, throwing himself over Louis to hug him. “I’d have killed you otherwise, you right bastard!”

The air left Louis’ lungs in a wheeze, but he had never felt better as he tried to hug Niall back, seeing Liam and Zayn’s smiling faces behind him.

Judging by the somber colour palette and the sterile smells they were in a hospital, and Louis couldn’t complain, seeing as the pain in his shoulder had been reduced to a dull throb.

“I’m happy to see you again, Louis,” said Zayn, with his hand on Liam’s waist.

“I’m so sorry,” said Liam, hunching down over Louis to squeeze his arm. Louis tried to wave it away.

“Just don’t tell Simon,” he said on a pained exhale. “I mean, I’ve been in hiding for too long to come out of it.”

“Of course, no,” agreed Liam with a headshake. “No one knows, except us in this room.”

Louis sighed, falling back onto the pillow and hugging Harry’s hand tight.

“Right,” he said. “Maybe I can start over, for real this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....and roll credits!  
>  I'm kidding, there's an epilogue to follow. Sorry I didn't update yesterday, I completely forgot, and not one of you reminded me!


	6. Epilogue

**Bruges, Belgium. Three years later**

“–I mean, I _expected_ Liam and Zayn to be reinstated with full honours, you know!” said Louis, gesturing animatedly with one hand as he dug into the waffle Harry had made him with the other.

Harry watched him over the small table on their balcony with a smile playing on his lips, enjoying how the morning sun made Louis’ eyes seem an otherworldly blue, giving his sleep–tousled hair and bed–creased skin a golden shimmer.

“Mhmm,” he agreed as Louis swallowed a mouthful, encouraging him to continue.

“But a knighthood? For both of them? It’s bloody ridiculous, that is!” he said, punctuating with a stab of his syrup–covered fork.

Harry leaned his chin on his hand, taking a little sip of his espresso as he nudged Louis’ leg with his foot.

“That might have been you,” he said above the porcelain rim. “If you’d gone back, that is.”

Louis paused, mouth closed on another forkful of waffle, his ridiculously long lashes fluttering in a surprised blink.

“Are you asking me if I regret running away with you?” he said around the waffle, putting the fork down with a clatter. Harry shrugged, looking at the flowers lining the metal railing of the balcony. They had just started to bloom in the early spring warmth. He heard Louis swallow.

“Hey,” said Louis, his tone uncharacteristically soft as he reached across the table to turn Harry’s face with a gentle touch to his cheek. “I would run away with you a million times if I could.”

Harry looked back at him, unable to stop his lips from stretching into a smile. Louis smiled back, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it as his hand trailed down to Harry’s neck, stroking softly.

That crooked smile and those twinkling blue eyes were what had made Harry so endlessly fascinated with Louis that first night he’d laid eyes on him – and that smile could still make Harry lean across the table to capture Louis’ sweet lips in a kiss.

Louis hummed contentedly against Harry, and Harry traced his tongue against the seam of his mouth, licking up any remaining trace of syrup.

“I’m quite glad you decided to run away with me,” breathed Harry against Louis’ lips. Louis leaned back a little, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“You only keep me around for the sex, don’t you?” he said, the smirk emphasizing the lines of his cheekbones. Harry laughed and got to his feet to forcibly haul him inside.

“That too, you menace,” he mumbled fondly into Louis’ hair as they fell into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Except there will be a sequel, because spy movies always have a sequel, so stay tuned for that.
> 
> In the meantime, you can listen to the [soundtrack](http://8tracks.com/santtu-waller/you-only-live-twice) I've put together, or browse the [tumblr tag](http://trailsofpaper.tumblr.com/tagged/calling%20an%20audible) for this fic.
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment, I really appreciate it! <3


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